The rain has not been here for so long. I fear that the longer this dryness lasts, the deeper she will go underground.

She already has trouble coming out as it is. Twice, maybe three times a week when she’s having her good days. When the ground is moist with the bounty of the skies and the air is crisp with the promise of more to come.

But days like this, when the air is dry and the ground starts to crack and plumes of dust rise when stomped upon by uncaring feet; days like this, and she disappears into her cocoon; into herself.

It is as though she, like the plants she cares for so tenderly, has this magical bond with the natural flows of the moisture as it descends from the heavens. That her soul has an invisible yet concrete connection to the ebbs and flows of the clouds and winds and streams. And as they sing and dance, so to does she. Her energy is tied to the the dappled fields as the sun and wind design a kaleidoscope of greens and browns and muddy reds.

But when the skies dry up, and the winds die down and the green leaves turn ugly yellow and start to crackle and turn in upon themselves – so too does she. She shuns the world and people and hobbies and life. She recedes into a world of her own. Almost as though she were conserving herself till the forces that give her life decide to return.

She always comes back. She always rebounds. when the rains return, and the ground is soaked, she too emerges from her cave, and she too laughs and dances and seems to teem with life and hope and joy and energy.

But this time, I fear that the rains have held aloof for too long, that the earth has gotten to dry, that she is close to turning into that ugly yellow leaf that turns into itself, before it turns into dust and its fragments are born away by the wind.

She will not let me in. She will let no one in. I fear. I am so afraid. Afraid that if the rains do not come soon, if the winds do not come back bearing the smell of moisture and life – afraid that when I finally do build up the courage to go check on her, all I will find are crinkled fragments of who she had once been. And that my life force will have disappeared.